at him because the truth was she had read it because Chris had told her she needed to read it in order to be well rounded. She had not particularly enjoyed the book.
Jeff smiled before she could respond. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell the in crowd that you didn’t much like it. The problem with reading Kerouac today is that everyone thinks he’s cool, when the truth is, he was just the writer guy, you know, the dude with the journal keeping notes on the crazy stuff his friends did.”
“I’m not worried about what people think,” she said. “So, are you like him? I mean, are you the writer guy who keeps a journal and chronicles the crazy stuff your friends do?”
His smile faded. “No. Not really. But I have a question for you.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to be on the receiving end of any questions.
“What were you reading that day when I came in the store the first time?”
Oh, crap. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been reading a romance novel. How pathetic would that be? So she thought fast and lied. “Oliver Twist.”
His mouth turned up adorably. He didn’t believe her. “Good book. I wholeheartedly believe that we should all ask for more.”
And that was the end of her attempt at using book talk to discover his secrets. It was, however, the beginning of several long conversations about the classics, where she discovered that Jeff Talbert had actually read Jane Eyre. He’d hated every minute of it, but he’d read it in high school.
He’d also read The Call of the Wild and The Last of the Mohicans. Those books he’d liked. She wasn’t surprised.
All that book talk was tantalizing. So when Thursday came to a close, she took a leap and asked, “So, uh, you want to go down to the Jaybird for a drink or something?”
He gave her a soulful brown-eyed look and shook his head. “No. Maybe some other time.” And then he left the store, but not before he glanced out the window as if checking to see who might be out there on the sidewalk, watching.
* * *
He should stop. Now. Going to Secondhand Prose on a daily basis was a dumb idea. Even though the store wasn’t exactly the type of place Pam would frequent, he still risked being seen. He’d learned from the grapevine that Aunt Pam didn’t spend much time with Uncle Mark in DC. She stayed at Charlotte’s Grove and managed things. What things she managed were not precisely clear, but it wasn’t unusual for Aunt Pam to be seen on Liberty Avenue shopping or visiting with merchants.
Maybe he should book a flight to the Bahamas or something.
He jettisoned the idea. For some reason, helping Melissa clean and organize her grandmother’s bookstore had become the thing he wanted to do right now. It filled his days. It gave him purpose.
And maybe he was accomplishing something important—pulling Melissa out of her funk. She may not have shed a tear or said a word, but Melissa was grieving for her Grammy. Working to clean and organize the place seemed to have given her a purpose, too.
She obviously loved that store and wanted to keep it open. But she didn’t have enough customers. That kept him up at night, worrying. And worrying about how to save Secondhand Prose seemed way more productive than worrying about his lost career in journalism.
So, despite his better judgment, he returned to the shop on Friday with a bag filled with color-coded adhesive tags.
“We’re going to change your pricing system,” he announced as he came through the door and gave Dickens a long head scratch.
“Why would we do that?” Melissa asked.
She must have been anticipating his arrival this morning, since she was standing in the history section at the front of the store, but she didn’t seem to be shelving books or doing anything at all, except waiting for him. Today she greeted him wearing a bright yellow Hansel and Gretel T-shirt with red jeans.
He warmed at his first sight of her. What was she going to do today? Yesterday’s book discussions had been way more fun than Wednesday’s third degree. Last night she’d even asked him out for a drink. Saying no had been hard, but he needed to figure out where the Jaybird Café was located and whether Aunt Pam was a regular customer.
Scoping the place out was on his to-do list. But until he could fully define safe, Pam-free zones, he was